Helping Hands
by Evilyn Grendel
Summary: The year 1020 may have been the beginning to the Arrangement, but 1025 was the beginning of a new level of trust. Moulting, and even the odd shed, had never been so intimate. Especially between hereditary enemies. Cowritten by Arthur Albion.
1. Chapter 1: Aziraphale's Moult

_Cowritten by Arthur Albion_

* * *

**Spring 1025**

Heaven had been unusually quiet the past few years. Aziraphale was sure to keep in touch and up to date on all the latest plans he needed to be involved in on Earth. However, assignments had been slow to come in and that left the angel plenty of time to spend as he pleased. It was the perfect time to take a holiday.

Daffodils lined the wall of the inn Aziraphale was currently approaching. Most were still just budding in the early season of spring, stalks of green pushing up determinedly through the dirt. The angel briefly admired them before entering, weary from his journey and hoping to get a quick bite to eat. He made a beeline for the bar, ordered some food and drink, and then turned to take in the room to find a table. Blue eyes met a familiar yellow gaze hidden away in a darkened corner. Aziraphale approached without hesitation.

"Hello, Crowley. Fancy meeting you here," he said pleasantly. The angel hovered opposite at the demon's table and gestured at the empty chair. "May I join you?"

It didn't actually surprise him that he ran into the demon. They had been meeting quite frequently these past few years to smooth over the details of their recent Arrangement, as well as share philosophical debates over a few drinks. Crowley was quite an amiable companion for being the Enemy.

"Aziraphale! Cor, have a sit. Been in town long?" There was a mostly empty tankard on the table, and the angel could guess it wasn't the first. Crowley was well in his cups.

"No, just arrived. I thought a change of scenery would be nice. What about you?" Aziraphale sat in the chair opposite and wiggled his shoulders as he settled.

Crowley winced as he sobered up, the alcohol leaving his bloodstream. "What? Oh, uh, been around for a few weeks. Not much here, but the drink is good. Hasn't been much in the way of assignments since, might as well relax, y'know."

"I do know. It's been the same for me." Aziraphale frowned a bit. "Not that I'm ungrateful for the unofficial holiday, but it's been rather dull. Travelling helps keep me busy but it's quite uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes, riding a horse all over the country."

"Riding? You? Why not travel by cart?"

"Don't want to spend too many frivolous miracles. Since I'm not assigned any great tasks, I shouldn't be indulging myself too much. Ah, thank you," Aziraphale said as the serving girl placed his food and drink in front of him. The angel immediately dug into his meal while it was still hot.

Crowley waited for the girl to leave again. He rolled his eyes. "Your lot are too strict about the most mundane things, angel. I'd like to see Gabriel ride a horse and then call it frivolous."

"I doubt you'd catch him discorporated on a horse. He'd rather miracle himself exactly where he intends to be and then vanish off back into Heaven," Aziraphale said tartly.

An expression of confusion crossed the demon's face at the tone. It was unlike Aziraphale to be curt, but very unlike him to be so candid about Heaven. Crowley's eyes narrowed slightly as he sat forward to lean on the table. He wondered what was the real problem. "Yeah, uh, exactly. So, so, just get yourself a cart. You could even get one the human way if miracles are the problem."

"I can't afford it yet. I have to wait out my next payroll period. Celestial Accounting has been a bunch of sticklers lately. Upset over messy records or some such nonsense. While they're fixing the system, everyone has been relegated to emergency only miracles. The exception for me is if I'm on assignment. Or if you are on assignment. You still need thwarting after all. Regardless, that won't inconvenience the angels in Heaven, of course." The angel took a deep drink from his own tankard.

"Course, and you're the only angel on earth." Crowley seemed annoyed on Azirapahle's behalf and he quickly glanced away. It was almost flattering, in a way, to know Heaven considered him a specific problem. "Hell can't be bothered with Accounting, despite how many accountants we have. It's encouraged to indulge. Selfishness, y'know. You have a horse though?"

"Yes. Fortunately, I had a horse before all this happened. I certainly can't get very far walking."

The demon nodded thoughtfully, agreeing silently about the means of travel common to the times. He didn't own a horse, nor did he ever intend to come into possession of such a beast. Or any beast. Animals decidedly did not like him. "You just passing through then? Fomenting peace and tranquillity?"

"I'd hardly say it's been tranquil."

"Oh? Why's that? I've not been fomenting dissent and discord in, uh, few centuries, at least."

"No, no, it's not you, dear boy. With all this kerfuffle in Heaven and limited miracles and, oh, never mind all that. I've blathered enough. What have you been up to if not fomenting porridge?" Aziraphale waved a hand vaguely and resumed eating, hoping to get the demon talking so he could finish off his plate.

"It's clearly something, angel," Crowley ignored the question. Something was wrong, something he hadn't caused. He was curious, and that was evident in his expression.

"Nothing you need to worry about, I can assure you," Aziraphale said kindly, but firmly.

The doubt was obvious, but Crowley knew better than to push too far with Aziraphale. They might have recently reached their Arrangement, but that did not entitle him to anything and everything he might want in information. Aziraphale was still, technically, the Enemy. He sighed. "Fine. I've been here for the past few weeks after I returned from Denmark."

"Oh. Have you tried the gravlax?"

"No."

"Quite scrumptious, you simply must try it next time you visit. Any exciting news from the Continent?" Aziraphale scraped up the last morsels of food on his plate and sat back with a content sigh.

"If there is, I don't know it. I was rather more preoccupied planting seeds of war into the ear of our lovely king, ol' Cnut. Apparently, Hell thinks he should expand from England and Denmark into Norway. Going to be quite the thorn in Sweden's side from the sounds of it. Shouldn't be too long before they get on with it all, but I don't want to be around for the actual fighting, you know. Thought coming back to England might be more fun."

The angel's brow furrowed, more perplexed than upset. "Is that so? Heaven also has an interest in Norway, but on the side of the Swedes, of course. I suppose it's a bit late to do much about it if you've decided to return here."

"Well, might be, yeah. Special assignment, anyway. I can't see what's so important in Norway. Too bloody cold, if you ask me."

"It's ineffable."

Crowley huffed a sigh in irritation. It was no secret he loathed that word. It wasn't ineffable. Nothing, in his opinion, was ineffable. Ineffable just meant too damn lazy to bother explaining; a pathetic lie to keep information secret. "Whatever. England is too cold and damp enough as it is. I don't like Scandinavia."

"It's not so bad. The fjords are quite lovely." Aziraphale subconsciously reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "The winter may be harsh, but there's something rather homey about sitting next to a warm fire and having a good meal with a storm outside. I suppose you could get that about most anywhere else."

Rolling his eyes again, the demon scoffed. "I'll keep that in mind if I receive orders to go back. You can enjoy the gravlax too."

"Only if Heaven catches wind of it. As it stands, I think it would better suit our arrangement if we simply let the humans get on with it." The angel spoke almost disinterestedly, giving his neck a good rub. "I expect you're as eager to face off in battle as I am. And it seems a shame you came all this way back to England only to return to Denmark."

Crowley nodded in agreement. He had no interest in wars, and was generally against them happening at all. He especially had no interest in a war in Scandinavia. Even in the middle of summer, it was still a bit cold for his liking, but so was England. "Right, yeah."

Watching everything around them closely, he realised just how often Aziraphale was itching at his neck and shoulders. It wasn't really strange behaviour, but it was strange for an angel. They didn't suffer itches and illnesses like humans. Crowley reached one arm over his own shoulder to mirror the motion and suddenly realised why Aziraphale was in a bad mood. "You're moulting." His tone was surprised, but it hadn't been a question.

Aziraphale gave a start at the declaration and blushed. "How on earth could you tell?"

"I have eyes, angel. You keep scratching your back and neck. And I've had a moult before. I know how it is."

"Yes, all right, that's the other thing that's been bothering me," the angel sighed in defeat. He itched again at his shoulder. No use in pretending anymore. "It's been going on for a while now. I can't quite reach all of the feathers to help it along, so it's been a pain in my side. Or my back, rather."

"Let me guess, those feathers right at the base? Right where shoulder blade meets wing? Tricky bit, yeah. I have trouble with that area too." The demon glanced down at his near-empty cup, before meeting blue eyes once more. "I could, uh, sort them out, y'know. If you like."

Wings were something particularly personal in both Heaven and Hell. They could be so easily damaged, and a broken blood feather or two could mean death. It took a lot of trust to allow someone to touch and preen. Something like this was far more intimate than anything they had discussed as far as the Arrangement was concerned. Crowley was expecting the angel to decline.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley in utter disbelief and opened his mouth to do just that, but then shut it again. It was one thing to chat with the Enemy on the wall of Eden just after the Fall of Man. It was one thing to call a truce of sorts for their benefit when Good and Evil cancelled each other out anyway. It was another matter entirely to allow a demon to touch his wings.

And yet, Aziraphale hesitated.

It would have been so much easier to simply return to Heaven where he wouldn't have to worry about frivolous miracles and an uncomfortable moult, but that thought was somehow less desirable than the unexpected alternative which had presented itself. Even worse, Aziraphale suddenly realised, this horrible unexpected alternative actually sounded quite nice.

The angel wasn't a fool. Demons could be tricky creatures, spinning elaborate schemes only to attack when their victims let their guard down. But Aziraphale had watched Crowley closely since the Beginning whenever they ran into each other and knew that this demon was different from the rest. Warmth flooded his chest as he recalled how gentle Crowley had been with the children plaiting his long red locks thousands of years ago. And it had looked quite fetching when they were done.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I, uh. Well, if you could assist me then I shall be sure Heaven notices nothing _untoward _in Denmark. Seems only fair. With our arrangement and all."

Crowley's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh, uh, yeah. Course. Offered, didn't I. Hmm, uh. We should, we'll have to find, somewhere. Anywhere. Can't have wings out in a pub." He picked up his empty drink only to put it back on the table. Standing up, his eyes glanced around the room and occasionally back to Aziraphale. "Just going to, uh," he trailed off as he slithered away.

Approaching the owner of the establishment, he asked about rooms. Paying the man, he hesitated for a moment before returning to their table. "We can head up whenever you want, angel. Not that I'm rushing you, just thought you might want to get it over with." To stop himself from babbling more, Crowley dropped the key onto the table. It was best that the angel felt in control of the situation.

The angel looked at the key. He swigged the rest of his drink quickly, afraid they would both lose their nerve if he stalled. Nerves aside, the irritation in his wings was becoming truly unbearable. He wasn't sure how much longer he could bear the annoyance. Aziraphale swiped the key off the table as he stood. "I just finished anyway."

"Right." The demon hadn't bothered to sit again, shifting back and forth on his feet, and that seemed to be a good thing. He followed a few paces behind Aziraphale as they made their way upstairs.

The room was sparsely furnished with only a bed in the middle of the room, bedside table with a washing bowl and candle, and a small wardrobe. It would serve their needs well enough.

Crowley hesitated awkwardly near the door after he closed it, hoping to let the angel take the lead. To feel comfortable with what was about to happen. As if any angel could be comfortable around a demon.

Aziraphale stood before the bed, keeping Crowley in his peripheral vision as he took off his light coloured cloak. He laid it flat on the end of the bed before slipping off his coat and belt, pulling his tunic over his head so the wings wouldn't tear his clothes. He shivered as the cold air hit his bare skin and pulled his wings into view. He glanced at Crowley who still hadn't moved from the doorway, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

The demon had been doing his best not to stare at the angel as he undressed, but he snuck a few glances here and there. His eyes caught on the markings of the angle's left arm. He recognised the markings of an angel, the leaflet looking patterns that adorned the servants of God. Crowley noticed they seemed to only appear on the left arm, above the elbow, rather than being symmetrical to both arms. The marks were also silver. It was enchanting, and he couldn't look away.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, heat rising his to face. "Best get on with it then."

Colour rose in Crowley's cheeks as well at having been caught in the act. He coughed awkwardly and nodded. "Right, yeah. Course. Uh, you should probably, ngh, sit on the, bed."

"Oh. Right." Aziraphale sat on the edge, still watching Crowley. He stretched his wings out enough so he could sit comfortably, a few loose feathers fluttering to the floor.

The mistrust in those blue eyes didn't escape his notice, but Crowley shuffled around to the other side of the room so he could stand behind Aziraphale trying not to look as guilty as he felt. He hadn't even done anything wrong, but the angel had a way of making him feel otherwise.

Crowley had seen Aziraphale's wings before, on the wall of Eden, but that had been the first and last time until now. They were mid-moult and generally seemed long in need of a good preening anyway. He could see the trapped feathers near the base as well as many other feathers and barbs that did not flush properly. "You're wings haven't seen the better side of preening in ages, angel. When was the last time you tended them?"

Aziraphale bristled, literally. His feathers puffed out indignantly, making the dishevelled appearance even worse. "A decade ago or so and I can only reach so far, so pardon me for missing a few spots. We can't all be as vain as a demon. Vanity is looked down on after all."

"A decade! You mean not since the last moult?!" This was genuinely shocking. Crowley didn't rise to the bait about vanity, knowing Aziraphale wasn't in the best of moods.

"When else am I supposed to preen?"

"I don't know! I do at least every month. Sometimes more often if I feel like. Or I get bored." He slipped his gloves off and dropped them onto the table next to the washing bowl.

"Once a month?! How do you find the time during assignments?"

"I have time. I make time. My wings are important to me." What was left of them, at least. He could see where he should start, the right side was looking a bit more in need with more trapped feathers, but it was the starting that seemed to be difficult.

"I take offence at your implication. Just because I don't spend hours shining my feathers doesn't mean they aren't important to me."

"Never implied that, angel."

Very slowly, Crowley reached out and placed his hands gently near the base where wing met skin.

Aziraphale twitched out of reflex when he felt the hand touch his back, wings starting to pull in instinctively but he managed to stop himself before he accidentally clocked the demon over the head. Trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart, he forced himself to sit still.

Ducking out of the way at the movement, Crowley kept his guard up. Even if it was just a jerk reaction, he didn't really want to be smacked. After a moment of hesitation, he leant in closer so he could see more easily. There wasn't a lot of light in the room, and his eyesight wasn't the best anyway. He carefully felt along the trapped feathers, his fingers showing him just as much as his eyes.

Without giving it much thought, he slowly sat down on the bed as well. At first, his legs were on the floor as he twisted into the wings, but he quickly shifted to curl limbs under himself. Hands never left Aziraphale as he worked to free the feathers there.

Once the scapulars had been released from their casings, his hands moved across the wing as he picked out old feathers and smoothed coverts into place. Nimble fingers also removed bits of dirt and leftover casings. The demon was silent as he worked, all his attention was focused on the task.

When he had finished, the wing had a beautiful shine to it. He moved without asking to the left wing and began the same process over again. It was a slow process, but Crowley would not be rushed. He cared a great deal for his own wings, but caring for Aziraphale like this made him even more meticulous.

As Crowley worked, slowly, very slowly, Aziraphale began to relax. After weeks of discomfort and irritation in his wings, it was a relief to have someone to help the moult along in the places Aziraphale couldn't reach. The angel's shoulders lowered and he rolled his neck, first to the left, with a small sigh.

When the task was complete, Crowley almost didn't want to pull away. But his hands returned to his own lap. Overstepping their boundaries had gone far enough tonight. Almost.

"And you don't have to keep Heaven out of the loop just for this. About Denmark. Or anything. As payment. Whatever. You don't owe me anything, angel." Crowley stood up, moving away from the bed and stood near the door again to give Aziraphale space.

Aziraphale folded his freshly moulted wings against his back, the smoothed feathers rustling almost silently as they folded over each other before vanishing into the aether. Without standing, he slipped on the cream coloured tunic over his head. He didn't bother to finish dressing as he looked at the demon backing toward the door. "I didn't think demons did any favours freely."

"Not a favour."

The angel gave Crowley a perplexed look. "Then what would you call that? What are you looking for in return?"

Crowley shifted nervously from one foot to the other again, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. "Well, I just, uh, nothing really. Nothing. Like I said, don't owe me anything."

"What the devil are you playing at? Is this some kind of rain cheque? Saving the favour for another time?"

"No, nothing like that," the demon felt as guilty as he probably looked. He avoided looking at Aziraphale by glaring at the water bowl where he had forgotten his gloves.

"Then what?"

"I was just, just enjoying the company," Crowley muttered quietly. His hands slipped into his pockets and shoulders slumped at the unfortunately truthful admission.

"Oh." Aziraphale was suddenly unsure how to feel, what to do, or what to say. He stared at Crowley, then looked around the room, then fiddled his hands together, then looked back at the demon, then away, then back. "Well, thank you for, for, whatever this is."

"Don't thank me. Just, uh, I should probably be leaving. For the best, yeah. Let you, ngk," throwing open the door, Crowley bolted into the corridor.

"Wait!" Aziraphale jumped off the bed to his feet, started to hurry after the demon before he stopped short with a swear word almost toppling off the tip of his tongue. Biting it back, he hurried back to the bed to finish dressing.

Crowley's face felt too hot, and he was just lucky he didn't need air to survive. He had forgotten to breathe around the time he had sat down on the bed.

Scurrying down the stairs back into the hall where a few late-night patrons were still seated at the bar, he tried to shuffle out of the inn just as quickly. A man, probably a local, well in his own cups, raised his glass at the demon with a knowing wink. Crowley averted his eyes and made no response as he walked out into the cold night breeze.

He came to a stop near the stables around the back of the inn and leant against the door. He didn't have a horse, but he was weighing the need to leave quickly against, well, he didn't really care about stealing actually. Slipping into the barn, he began sizing up the horses until he noticed the pure white horse practically radiating angelic energy. Rolling his eyes, he snapped his fingers. A cart appeared next to the white beast along with a plain-looking sack that would repel anyone looking to steal. Crowley was trying to work out which horse was the least likely to immediately attack him when the door opened. He ducked behind a stall wall, hoping not to be caught in the act of horse theft. He also stayed away from the horse, not wanting it to kick him.

Aziraphale stood inside the stable doors, panting a bit. "I know you're in there, Crowley. Aren't you going to use the room you paid for?"

Crowley sighed in relief that it wasn't a human, before swearing under his breath that it wasn't a human. He stood up. "Oh, uh, nope. All yours. I have to, uh, got work to do."

"Oh, well, alright. If you're certain." Aziraphale paused. "Hang on, I thought you said you didn't have any assignments?"

"Well, I, lied. Yup. Demon. That's what I do, lie. Lots of work to do."

The angel gave Crowley a dubious look. "Right."

Aziraphale moved away from the door. "Well, I'm grateful for your, ah, assistance. Mind how you go. May we meet again soon."

Crowley made a noncommittal sort of sound in response, not watching Aziraphale leave. Unfortunately for him, he had also not been watching the horse he had been hiding with. The horse had decided this was the moment to reclaim its stall.

"Agh!" Crowley was kicked very solidly in the side, over the wall, and onto the dirt floor. The demon groaned from the ground, positive he had broken something. Probably a bone. Annoying things, bones.

The angel was at his side in a flash, having moved faster than was humanly possible. "Oh, my dear, are you all right?" Before the demon could protest, he laid a hand on Crowley's side and the pain melted away instantly.

"There, that's better. Now we're even." The angel beamed, obviously self-satisfied, and helped Crowley to his feet.

Finding himself on his feet again, Crowley felt his torso for the wounds that weren't there. It had all happened rather quickly. His mind finally registered the words, and he held in a groan. "Told you, you didn't owe me. You shouldn't be healing demons. Heaven will notice. And you're not supposed to use miracles anyway. Celestial Accounting and all that nonsense."

Aziraphale waved a hand in the air carelessly. "Never mind all that. At worst, I'll receive a reprimand and nothing more. Besides, isn't my angelic duty to help those in need? It's a selfless act to help a human who had a nasty accident with a horse."

"Yeah? Only I'm not exactly a human, Aziraphale."

"I couldn't tell. It was very dark," Aziraphale said with false innocence.

The groan Crowley had been holding back a moment ago could no longer be suppressed.

"It's too late to take it back now, so you'd best just run along," Aziraphale continued, a little too smugly.

"Still, you shouldn't be healing a demon. Even if Heaven doesn't know."

"Didn't you have some very important hellish deeds to attend to?"

Crowley ducked his gaze away from the angel. "Oh, right. I guess. Said as much, yeah." He felt bad about how the evening had gone very drastically downhill, but there was nothing he could say or do to fix things.

Aziraphale stepped back, releasing his gentle hold on the demon's arm from having helped him up. He hesitated. "Safe travels, dear boy." He hurried out of the stables.

Crowley let the angel go without saying anything. He slumped back against some wall and exhaled a long sigh. "Night, my angel."

He stayed there a moment or two longer before he looked up to glare at the horse that had kicked him. "And you. You're coming with me. And you won't like it."


	2. Chapter 2: Crowley's Moult

_Cowritten by Arthur Albion_

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**Summer 2022**

It was a common enough occurrence every decade that Crowley would, without fail, turn up in the Spring to help Aziraphale with his wings as the angel went through his moult cycle. The only exception had been in the eighty or so years after they had a falling out over the question of Holy Water. Crowley was willing to preen those beautiful white wings whenever Aziraphale might, or might not, ask, but he insisted on helping during the angel's moult at the very least.

Despite the many attempts and offers of returning the gesture on the part of the angel, Crowley had never asked or even mentioned his own moults. Never in almost a full millennia. Aziraphale had not once been able to work out when the demon moulted or if it was even every decade like himself. Perhaps demons moulted every year or every other decade or even once per century. He couldn't be sure. He knew the demon had wings, so surely they must moult as well.

They were a few years on from the failed Armageddon, but not too much had changed. They spent considerably more time together with a substantial lack of work between them.

It had been a warm and breezy sort of summer week, and Aziraphale had the thought that maybe a slight change of pace might be nice. They dined out often, but the countryside was calling to him. The urge to get out of London, even if just for the day, was too much to ignore. It was early enough in the morning he hadn't bothered to open his shop yet and decided he wasn't going to. Aziraphale caught the bus to the grocery store before catching another bus on his way to Mayfair. A miracled picnic basket would suffice, but he preferred human-made food.

Knocking on the door, he hadn't considered how early in the morning it really was. Early by a demon's standards, at least. There was no reply. Knocking once more, he hesitated a moment before letting himself into the flat. It was just as minimalist as he remembered, but he knew it was not without its touches of warmth the deeper one ventured into Crowley's space. Aziraphale left the basket on the counter in the kitchen.

The office was empty aside from the giant desk and ornate throne. The sitting room was also empty as well as the corridor full of plants. They weren't shaking, but he took this only to mean Crowley was still asleep. The angel spared them a small smile of encouragement but knew better than to comfort them. It always made him feel guilty to leave them in such a state, but he continued on through the apartment. Surprisingly, he found the bedroom also empty. Unwilling to trust his eyes in the dark, he entered the room with some apprehension and placed a hand on the blankets. There was no serpent curled within them.

Beyond confused, Aziraphale was getting a little worried. He focused himself as he pushed his senses outward for any sign of Crowley. He came back to himself and was surprised with the information that Crowley seemed to be in the washroom. At least his demon seemed to be alone in there, so his worries subsided a bit. Leaving the bedroom, he continued on down the hall. The door was closed, as was common of an occupied toilet. Hesitating, he knocked. "Crowley?"

There was a great splashing sound from within.

Aziraphale cracked open the door and was met with a great deal of steam rushing out into his face.

"Aziraphale?" The door was pulled open and more steam escaped the room. Crowley was soaking wet and his wings were out. The bathroom was unbelievably luxurious. It shouldn't have fit in the space allotted, let alone within the entire flat. The bath was more of a pool going by the size and shape of it. The bottom seemed to be sunk down a few feet into the floor. The entire far wall was, presumably, a floor to ceiling mirror though it was too fogged to see much. "What are you doing here? What time is it?" His expression turned grim. "Did something happen? Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I am quite all right, dear boy. I thought we might go for a picnic, the weather has been so nice." Aziraphale couldn't help but notice that Crowley had been bathing, but the wings caught his eye. He had only ever twice seen the demon's wings. Wings, however, were generally not meant to be wet. A bit of rain was one thing, but to be entirely soaked through was another completely. A wet wing meant you were grounded, and they took so long to properly dry out. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, just having a bath."

Crowley's shifty tone caught his attention immediately. It wasn't often the demon lied to him, which should have been surprising for a demon. Aziraphale kept his gaze level on Crowley, waiting.

"Okay, okay. Shut up. I was, cleaning my wings."

Aziraphale smiled, a little smugly, but didn't rub it in. He knew it was second nature for demons to lie and had always been so appreciative of Crowley's tendency towards honesty. "I'm so sorry to intrude. Please, continue. We can go for a picnic another day. I'll just let myself out, and-"

"Wait!" Crowley's hand shot out as if to grab the angel's wrist, but he stopped short not wanting to get Aziraphale wet. His hand hung in the air between them.

"Oh. Yes?"

"Uh. It's just," Crowley glanced around the corridor as if expecting something to be there that should not be, but never quite meeting that blue gaze. "My wings."

Aziraphale glanced over Crowley's shoulder again at the gorgeous grey wings. "Bit damp, yes. What about them?"

Crowley somehow managed to look strained and guilty at the same time, trying to express his point without words. His hand continuously clenching and unclenching. "Well, it's just, they're, uh, I'm, no. Never mind. It's fine. Picnic, right, maybe next week? Should be, should be done by then, yeah."

The angel quirked an eyebrow at the odd comment. He glanced from the yellow eyes that would not meet his own to the damp wings as he considered such odd behaviour. Then it clicked.

"You're moulting, aren't you, my dear?"

Crowley blanched as he finally pulled his hand back to himself and awkwardly glared at the floor. He began shifting from one foot to the other. "Might be." He was so quiet, almost vulnerable.

"It's nothing I can't handle. I'll see you in a week, yeah? Picnic." The hand on the door was shifting it closed once more, hoping Aziraphale would take the hint and leave him be. In six millennia, he had never been caught mid-moult. By anyone. He briefly wondered if Aziraphale had been this embarrassed in 1025 the first time Crowley had caught him in moult.

Acting fast, Aziraphale had a hand on the door keeping it open. "Nonsense. You've been helping me for centuries. I would love the opportunity to finally return the favour."

Crowley knew better than try to push the door shut. The angel was much stronger than one might assume just looking at him. Stronger than the demon, too. "I've told you, you don't owe me, angel." Retreating back into the bathroom, he sighed. "You've never owed me anything."

"I'm well aware." Aziraphale kept his hand on the door but didn't move without the demon's permission. "It was never about owing you anything, you know. You never let me help if I didn't come up with some excuse."

"You weren't supposed to be helping demons." Crowley put his hands on either side of the sink glaring at himself in the foggy mirror.

"And yet I did. I hardly see how this is relevant, dear."

"It's not. Not really. Not anymore."

The angel was quiet for a moment on the other side of the door, before he spoke again. "Will you let me in?"

"Not like I could stop you." Sighing, he turned around to face Aziraphale, leaning back against the vanity hands still resting on the countertop behind him. He knew what the angel was waiting for, but he was loathe to say the words aloud. He was still a demon.

Recognising Crowley's way of assent, Aziraphale pushed the door open and smiled. "Thank you, my dear."

"Mm," Crowley looked sadly at the bath. It was easier to pretend he was upset about it. He thought about their usual setup when he preened and cleaned Aziraphale's wings, but Aziraphale's wings were also never this wet. Or wet at all. "Should I sit? I didn't exactly make this easy. Wasn't expecting, you know."

"Whichever is more comfortable for you."

With a wave and a snap, the bathwater was gone taking the moisture from the air as well. Crowley enjoyed the humidity and heat, but he knew his angel did not. If he had been in shed, he would have kept the damp air, even if Aziraphale didn't like it. Shedding was difficult enough as it was, let alone the physical pain and extra effort of trying to shed dry skin. The thought Aziraphale might be able to help with his sheds crossed his mind, but it was quickly dismissed. Aziraphale seeing him like this was bad enough.

"We can use the bed. It'll be easier. 'S what we usually do, anyway." Clicking his fingers once more, Crowley dressed himself from the waist down then gestured out of the washroom. He grabbed a few exquisitely fluffy towels from the rack as he followed Aziraphale out. They couldn't just miracle his wings dry, but this would help remove a lot of the water from the feathers.

Crowley was still in the middle stages of moult. A lot of the old feathers had already fallen out, and the new pins were just beginning to open themselves. Normally, he used the moisture to help ease the casings off and keep them from sticking in his feathers. It might not be the best method, but it worked with his sheds so he had decided millennia ago that it couldn't be the worst means to speed along the moulting process.

Following the demon into his bedroom, Aziraphale took off his cream coat and draped it over the nearest bit of furniture away from the damp wings and rolled up his sleeves.

Draping one towel over his shoulder, Crowley used the other to begin drying one wing as he followed Aziraphale down the corridor back to his bedroom. He didn't really care about the trail of water drops that he left on the floor, and the demon was also not too concerned about anything in the flat getting wet.

Pausing in the doorway to his room, he hesitated as he watched Aziraphale move around the bed. The notion they had done this before, many times, was distracting.

The angel turned curiously toward Crowley when he didn't move from the doorway. He suppressed a smile, remembering the first time the demon had helped him with his moult. He was acting very similarly, even though they had grown significantly closer and more trusting since then.

"Sit on the bed, my dear."

Startled out of his thoughts, Crowley glanced back at his wings. They were still damp, but at least they were no longer dripping. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Crossing his own room felt like an impossibly long journey. Perching on the edge of the bed facing away from the angel, he let his wings relax behind himself. He was tense and a little jumpy.

Aziraphale moved slowly behind him, not wanting to startle the demon. He was well aware of the level of trust involved in helping a moult. He knew just how difficult it was to be vulnerable at that stage, especially for Crowley.

"Now, let's see. The base," Aziraphale muttered aloud. It was more for Crowley's sake than his own, so the demon could know where the angel intended to work before he even touched him. Gently, he placed his hands among the ruffled feathers and began to work.

Even knowing the contact was coming, Crowley still flinched. He couldn't help it. A shudder went down his spine, but he was able to keep himself from jerking his wings too much under Aziraphale's hands. Slowly, Crowley stretched them both out, careful not to hit the angel in the process. The sensation of someone else touching his wings was new, but not completely unwelcome. It might have been if the hands had belonged to anyone besides his angel, but there was no one Crowley trusted more. No one else he trusted at all.

Just above where the feathers began to poke out of Crowley's back, the skin was an ugly, red discolouration and the skin itself was twisted in places as if it had not healed properly after being burned. The skin below his wings showed two more matching scars. The four scars of a former Seraph missing four wings. The middle pair had been all that survived the Fall. He felt lucky to have any wings at all.

Blue eyes lingered on the scars, hands slowing as he saw them for the first time, but Aziraphale made no comment and forced himself to look back at the feathers in his hands. His hands were gentle in their work, but steady and confident. He eased out snagged old feathers to make room for the new, picking out the little bits of dirt and the casings Crowley's bath hadn't washed away, smoothing out the feathers. He also used the corner of a towel to carefully dab away any excess water hidden underneath the plumage to help Crowley's wings dry faster. He didn't imagine it would be very comfortable having wet wings for an extended amount of time.

He continued to mutter to himself as he moved along slowly down the wing, following the forearm of the wing out to the alulae before making his way down to the secondaries. He took no offence whenever Crowley twitched or fidgeted under his hands, knowing it was a natural reaction to having one's wings touched. Once he finished one wing, he wasted no time to begin working on the other, being careful to only touch feathers and not skin as he worked from the base out.

Remaining quiet as Aziraphale worked his hands across and down his feathers, Crowley sat stiffly doing his best not to move and not to think. It didn't work. Whilst he was able to hold still, he couldn't stop his thoughts. Thoughts mostly occupied with mentally following angelic hands as they roamed over him. Even now, a few years post-Armageddon, they weren't particularly physical with each other. They might cuddle in the winter when the weather was intolerably cold in Crowley's reptilian option, or recline together on the couch as the serpent slept and the angel read. Touching was less awkward, but not significantly more often. Not like this.

When Crowley felt Aziraphale pull away, he almost jumped again at the movement. He could already feel how much better the new feathers sat without the casings and without the old feathers. Folding them into himself, Crowley closed them off from the mortal world so he appeared not to have them at all. He would shake them out later when he wasn't being watched. "Thanks, angel. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, my dear." Aziraphale stared at the demon's unobstructed skin, now unable to ignore the scars across the demon's back and the pit that had opened in his own stomach. Unable to stop himself, he gently brushed his hands across Crowley's shoulders.

A second shudder ran down Crowley's spine at the contact. He could guess what the angel was looking at. Something he himself had never been able to see but had felt burned into his being since his Fall. From his own hands reaching around to touch, he could imagine how the skin looked in the places where his wings were not. "Angel?" There was a slight edge to his voice. Not one of anger, but more like that of prey ready to flee the predator. Only Aziraphale could make him feel this vulnerable, and yet know he was completely safe.

"My apologies. I was just looking at, well-"

"Yeah," Crowley sighed but still didn't relax. He hadn't felt this tense since the days leading up to the end of the world. "After sixty centuries, I usually don't notice the pain. Almost feels like being burnt all over again sometimes. Not really painful anymore, but it's like a, a ghost limb most of the time. I guess."

"Yes, I understand that sort of absent feeling."

The demon nodded, remembering they both had wings stolen from them. "I did wonder. But you don't have scars. I've never seen them on your back. When I preen your wings, I mean."

"Not on my corporation, no."

"Oh." Crowley made a sort of head jerk that might have been reminiscent of a half nod. Aziraphale's hands dipped a bit lower from his shoulders in what most humans would consider a very nice back massage. Slowly, gently, they passed over the damaged skin. Crowley startled, but he had been expecting this to happen since they began.

Aziraphale's voice was barely audible when he spoke, for once not hiding a single ounce of sadness that bled into his tone. "I have never seen lovelier wings than yours, my dear."

"Then you've never looked at your own wings in the mirror, angel."

Aziraphale choked on a laugh. "They're only nice because you take such good care of them for me."

"They were beautiful in Eden, too. They've always been beautiful." _Just like you._ The statement floated silently in the air between them. Unsaid, but understood.

The angel's hands lingered over the scars, then he leaned forward and lightly placed a kiss on the upper right scar. "As are you."

Breath hitching, heat rose in the demon's face. He was glad to be facing away from his angel still. Instinct screamed at him to pull away. To stand up. To miracle up some sunglasses and a shirt and coat. To play off the moment as a joke or ignore it completely. Habits built over thousands of years were difficult to break.

Crowley ducked his head, resisting the urge to flee. "I, uh, thanks."

Aziraphale smiled. "You're welcome."

Letting the poor demon have a break from his affections, Aziraphale reluctantly took a step back and picked up his coat. "How about I make us some cocoa, hm?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. If you like. Should be some in the kitchen." Crowley clicked his fingers and knew Aziraphale would find everything he needed and wanted. He still couldn't look up from the floor, and his face was still dusted in pink though the colour was receding with a force of will.

Aziraphale slipped his coat on as he left the room, humming a tune about a singing nightingale he had heard somewhere. Probably not in the Bentley.

Exhaling slowly after the angel had left the room, Crowley dropped himself backwards onto the bed in a boneless flop. Lying on his back, he gazed up at the ceiling. In the millennia he had spent preening Aziraphale's wings and helping with his moult, Crowley had never expected the reverse situation to be so tense between them. He hadn't been expecting it to ever happen at all to find out if he was honest. He knew it was his own fault for being so on edge, which had only made the situation worse for them both.

Hands moved of their own accord up to cover his face as the demon held in a low groan. Treading into new territory like this was exciting, but also nerve-wracking for him.

Crowley knew he was being stupid. Aziraphale clearly didn't have any reservations about what had just happened. Aziraphale had always been the one to set the boundaries, and Crowley toed and nudged at them. The boundaries weren't so visible anymore. His arms slumped back to the bed as he sprawled out. Without boundaries, it was hard to know where they stood.

It only took him a moment or two to shake himself out of his thoughts. Standing, the demon clicked his fingers then slipped a hand into his pocket. The other hand pulled his sunglasses out from an inner coat pocket and slipped them onto his face.

Crowley nodded at Aziraphale when he entered the kitchen, but kept his eyes covered and his head down. Silently, he slouched against the counter.

The angel didn't seem in the least perturbed, bustling around the kitchen as he poured two mugs of warm freshly made cocoa. He held the first mug out to Crowley with a soft smile. "I hope the weather keeps. I was thinking of going out to the country for our picnic."

Accepting the mug, Crowley shifted his glare from the floor to the cup. In spite of himself, he glanced up when Aziraphale spoke. "What? Oh, right. When did you want to go?"

"I was hoping soon. I understand if you need another day with your moult, but perhaps after that?"

"Oh, it's fine. I usually just, deal with it. Doesn't really stop me from doing, well, much of anything. Can't, er- couldn't let anyone know when it was happening before. Not information you want to get out in case the wrong parties Down There or Up There might find out. I don't like when anyone gets the drop on me." Moulting made Crowley vulnerable to attack, and vulnerability made him paranoid. "So, you wanted to go tomorrow? Weather should hold. I think."

"Tomorrow is perfect."

"Should I drop you at the bookshop?"

Aziraphale paused with his own mug of cocoa in front of his lips, considering it. "I don't wish to intrude, but would it be all right if I stayed? Seems a shame to drag the basket all the way back to the shop."

"You're always welcome here, angel."


	3. Chapter 3: Crowley's Shed

_Cowritten by Arthur Albion_

* * *

**Autumn 2023**

Crowley's eyesight had never been the best, but he would never admit it. His pupil shape was designed for a snake and would have made him an excellent ambush hunter stalking through the night if he preferred that form. And if he actually bothered to hunt prey which seemed altogether like far too much effort when everything would taste like dirt anyway. The slits of his pupils might be fantastic for depth perception, but he was light-sensitive. Sunglasses had many uses. Wonderful invention, in his opinion, into which he had personally dipped his own influence. Unfortunately, eyes designed for tracking prey meant he sometimes had trouble seeing things that were stationary. Reading books, for example, was particularly difficult.

Despite all this, Crowley realised he was squinting more than usual when he had actually blinked at his phone in an attempt to bring the screen back into focus. It didn't help. Sighing, Crowley stood up and slipped the mobile into his pocket. Approaching the mirror in his ostentatious washroom, his suspicions were confirmed. The reflection looking back at him was rather blurry. His brille were both starting to cloud over. Annoyed, he recalled the sensation of being rather itchy over the past few days. It was that time of year again. Time to shed.

Unlike a moult of his feathers which he had to deal with every decade, shedding his snakeskin happened annually, much to his chagrin. Both events rendered him rather vulnerable. They were also both rather uncomfortable.

Pulling his mobile back out, Crowley considered the dark screen. He didn't want Aziraphale to worry about his absence, but he also didn't want the angel to notice his absence at all. Reasoning with himself, Aziraphale hadn't noticed in the centuries leading up to Armageddon. But their time apart had been more frequent than their time spent together. However, it had been particularly difficult to sneak around without detection when they had both been employed in the service of the Dowlings. Crowley didn't want the humans, Aziraphale, or really anyone to discover him.

Well, Aziraphale hasn't worked it out in the few years since Armageddon either, his mind argued back as it did every year when this routine came around. Crowley had even shed very soon after the world-changing events of that August in 2018 without the angel noticing.

The demon had briefly entertained the fleeting idea last year when Aziraphale had finally caught him mid moult that perhaps the angel could also assist him as he shed. The thought had surfaced again a few months later next he shed, but Crowley had chickened out and dealt with it on his own. Just as he had over six thousand times before. It had been mortifying enough to be caught moulting. But Aziraphale had experience with moults. They both had wings after all, and they both moult those wings every decade. This was no reason to guess the angel had any experience with reptiles or would be willing to learn through first-hand experience.

Aziraphale had never seemed repelled by his serpentine form, and he usually seemed quietly amused when customers would flee his shop at the sight of Crowley. A.Z. Fell and Co. was gaining quite a reputation online for the snake that seemingly roamed the shop without restraint. People reported seeing snakes in all sizes, and so theories seemed to believe the eccentric shop owner kept more than just one elapid. All of them black and red, however.

Crowley sighed at the screen as he unlocked the device and pulled up the contact information for the bookshop. He wished he could just text, but he knew better. All attempts to provide the angel with a mobile device, seemingly smart or otherwise, had been vehemently rejected by Aziraphale. He could call the bookshop, or visit in person. Going over in person at this stage, in his state, was right out. Fingers drummed on the counter of the vanity as he listened to the phone ring. He had no idea what time it was.

It was nearly one in the morning. And it was a weekday. No decent person called at this time of night. Closing the novel, Aziraphale set it aside as he crossed the shop. "I am afraid we are quite definitely closed for the night."

"Aziraphale."

"Oh, hello, Crowley dear."

"Yeah, hi. Listen, thought I should tell you, won't be around for the next week or so."

"Oh? Why is that? Has something happened?"

"No, nothing's wrong. Just, going to be a bit, uh, busy. Won't be able to drop by the shop. Didn't want you to, mmm," Crowley trailed off, waving a hand in the air as if he could be seen. Aziraphale would worry no matter what he did or said.

"Yes, of course." The anxious tone was barely concealed and rather obviously woven with disappointment. "And will I see you again when you are, less busy?"

"Definitely. Yes. I'll come round as soon as I can. If you like."

"That would be lovely, thank you, my dear."

"Uh, right. Yeah. See you. Uh," Crowley hung up before he could continue rambling.

Aziraphale placed the old rotary in its cradle slowly as his frown returned. Turning to the wall, he consulted the calendar hanging there. It was something he had noticed when they had been employed by the Dowlings for the better part of a decade, Crowley had always managed to slip away from the house for a week in the Autumn. At the time, Aziraphale hadn't thought much about it. They, like all the staff, were given holiday time, and Crowley seemed to always take his at the same time of year. Nothing too strange. Humans did this, usually in the summer, to his understanding. Aziraphale had tended to spread the days over the year rather than take them all at once. The singular exception had been when they both used the time off during the Spring of 2015. Aziraphale had been due for a moult, and Crowley had graciously assisted him.

Still, the angel had found it a bit suspicious when Crowley had claimed to come down with some illness the following Autumn. At the time, Aziraphale had suspected the demon was also moulting, but he knew now that the demon had moulted his own lovely grey wings three years prior in 2012. So, what had Crowley been up to that Autumn in 2015? Hell had only given him one assignment since 2007 and that was raising Warlock.

Always in the Autumn. Always for a week. Not even a month after Armageddon, this had still held true. Which only confirmed this ritual was not, in fact, related to Hell. Aziraphale's curiosity only increased.

He wanted to trust Crowley, and he did trust Crowley. But there was no denying the presence of something the demon was pointedly and purposefully not telling him. It had taken a few years, and some research, but Aziraphale thought he might have worked out what was happening to his friend. As far as he knew, Crowley's original demonic form was that of a great, black and red serpent. Serpents might not exactly be snakes, but they were both reptiles. And reptiles shed their skin.

Since he had caught Crowley mid-moult and theorised about shedding, Aziraphale had been waiting for the serpent to ask for help. In Aziraphale's mind there was no difference in the vulnerability and intimacy when comparing moulting and shedding, not that he had experience in both. At the very least, Aziraphale hoped Crowley would trust him enough to confide the nature of his autumnal absences. However, Aziraphale hadn't heard so much as a peep on the subject from Crowley as the year slowly whittled away as an angel waited in vain for a demon to trust.

Aziraphale couldn't blame Crowley. Their understanding of each other had evolved gradually over the centuries, their delicate balance nurtured meticulously as they learned to grow together. They tested each other's boundaries guardedly and it was always clear when a wall was discovered. Usually by the elegant method of running smack into it. Seemingly, Aziraphale was normally the first one to put his foot down and throw up his barriers. It seemed this way only because Crowley had never lowered his own. Not all the way.

In the wake of failed Armageddon, however, Aziraphale found himself enjoying Crowley's accelerated pace in life. So much so, the angel had begun to change his own pace in an attempt to better match. This caused their one well practised dance, formed and learnt over the millennia, to suddenly falter. They were awkward with each other now, stepping on the other's toes as they struggled together. The long-established sense of direction and rhythm had been disrupted. Aziraphale, for once, wasn't uncomfortable with this newfound uncertainty. He had full confidence that nothing could ever again drive them apart. Neither Heaven nor Hell had such power over them anymore.

Aziraphale brushed his pondering away, knowing he was overthinking it all. Crowley had never been one to share something like this unprompted, and he reasoned the demon simply was not used to such an intimate type of trust. The type they were starting to discover, together.

A day passed before Aziraphale popped over to Crowley's flat. He reasoned if Crowley truly was out, then it was the least he could do to water the plants. More likely, however, Crowley would be in. At least that was what the angel was hoping for. Aziraphale didn't want to think of the guilty possibility that Crowley hadn't been lying at all and really did have business to attend.

Crowley had never given the angel a key to his flat, but then Aziraphale had never given the demon a key to the bookshop. Locks were meaningless to them both. Aziraphale took the first bus over to Mayfair. The lift was empty as he rode it up to the top. The penthouse. No one else inhabited this floor.

Aziraphale knocked once, waited, twice, waited again, then finally opened the door with a small miracle. All was quiet, and the flat looked empty. Well, it always looked empty, even when Crowley was here. Closing the door behind himself, the angel paused as he focused. Extending his senses, he searched the immediate vicinity. Opening his eyes, Aziraphale smiled. Crowley's familiar presence was indeed here in the flat.

There was no rush, so the angel crossed the flat quietly until he found the plant mister. He recognised the green bottle and actually did begin watering the plants. Feeling a bit guilty by how they seemed to lean in towards him in the absence of shouting and threats, he gave them an encouraging smile and some whispered encouragements.

"Angel?"

The voice came from the floor. Once his shed began, Crowley was stuck as a serpent until he finished. He couldn't really see Aziraphale, but he had smelled the angel as soon as Aziraphale had entered the flat. No sense of taste, but two senses of smell came in handy sometimes. He tried to direct his face towards where he thought Aziraphale was standing. His eyes were visibly clouded, but hopefully, the angel would not notice this fact.

"What are you doing here? I said I was busy this week."

"My apologies, I didn't realise you would be home. I assumed you were away on business and thought I might make myself useful by watering your plants in your absence." Aziraphale instantly knew Crowley couldn't see him but still tried to look and sound as innocent as possible.

"The plants?" Crowley moved forward a bit as if pretending to look at the nearest. It began shaking. "Have you been nice to them? You know you can't be nice to them."

"Oh, well, yes. A bit. Nothing too lavish. Not to worry."

Serpents didn't really have the vocal capacity for words or many sounds, but this had never stopped Crowley and it didn't stop him now as he groaned in response. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale's approximate fuzzy outline and reared up to be slightly more at eye level. It might have been a threatening pose for any other snake.

"Angel, look, I appreciate the, uh, generosity, but really they'll be getting on just fine. You can return to your books. I'll see you in a week."

Aziraphale had been watching the black serpent closely and spotted the peeling skin on Crowley's snout. He decided to throw caution to the wind. "Well, if I can't help with your plants, perhaps I can help with your shed."

Crowley hadn't been intimidating before, but he certainly looked nothing short of docile as he slunk back down to the floor and curled in on himself. Really, he wasn't surprised in the slightest. It would have taken a real miracle for the angel not to notice. Slowly, the serpent began to slink back the way he had come as if Aziraphale wouldn't notice the large black serpent leaving.

"Oh, I, uh, no. It's fine. I'm fine. You don't have to. It's not like a moult. You, uh, you probably wouldn't like it. I'll see you in a week?"

The angel watched in open amusement at the giant serpent trying to slither away. He waited until he was sure that feeling wouldn't bleed into his voice. "Are you sure? I'm certain it would be easier for you if I'm here. I've read up on the subject extensively and I don't mind."

That gave Crowley pause and he glanced back even though he couldn't see Aziraphale. "You've been reading up on snakes and shedding? Why?"

"Well, I've had my suspicions for a while now and I thought it would be, erm, beneficial for both of us if I could assist."

"Oh." Crowley couldn't blush in this form, but somehow the serpent still managed to look embarrassed. "I thought I was doing a better job of hiding it. How, uh, how long have you known? That I shed every year, I mean."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean- well, you were quite good at keeping it quiet. I only began piecing it together when we worked at the Dowlings and you took holiday every Autumn."

"Good." Nodding, a very un serpent-like thing to do, Crowley seemed satisfied. "Just, y'know, I don't- didn't want Hell to ever find out. Or Heaven. Or you."

The atmosphere rather thick between them now. The air too. Steam was rolling out of the washroom into the rest of the flat. The bath itself was empty, but the air was just as thick and humid as if it had just been filled with very hot water.

There was a quick intake of breath from the angel, then a pause. "Oh. Well, I suppose if you'd rather have privacy, I understand. I'll see you in a week?"

"Uh, well, I, sure. If you like. You don't have to stay."

"Really, it's no trouble. If you'd like help, you need only ask." Aziraphale had not moved an inch.

"You are really pushing it, angel." Crowley groaned again as he felt the cool tiles of the corridor change into the warm tiles of the bathroom. Unable to sense his exact location, however, he practically yelped as he fell into the empty bath.

The angel rushed into the bathroom. "Oh dear, are you alright?"

"Just, go. Please." His pride was hurt, as was his nose. "I've been dealing with this forever. It's bad enough without you here to watch."

Aziraphale sighed loudly in exasperation. "Yes, but you don't have to. Now tell me what to do, you stubborn old serpent."

Unfolding himself from the pile he had become on the floor of the bath, Crowley tilted his head up and looked just a bit left of Aziraphale. A moment passed before he sighed. "Fine. _Fine._ If you could, just, gently peel the skin from my nose back." In an attempt to put his face within arms reach for the angel, Crowley clumsily thumped himself into the side of the bath wall. He growled in frustration. Being almost blind did not suit the serpent.

"Right," the angel quickly crossed the bathroom when he saw Crowley move. "Hold still. I can't help if you keep moving everywhere."

Giving up, Crowley laid down in the bath and just waited. Helping never really was his thing. He felt vulnerable and humiliated. Next year, he resolved to leave the continent so Aziraphale couldn't find him. Maybe he would always have to flee to avoid this when he had to shed and moult.

Aziraphale went down the stairs of the gigantic bath that was really more of a pool, and hovered near Crowley, suddenly hesitating. Despite insisting on helping, the demon did have a point. Aziraphale had never helped with a snake shedding before and didn't want to make the situation worse for Crowley. It was one thing to read and become knowledgeable about a subject, but it was another to actually do it.

"Let me know if I'm hurting you. My hand is right in front of you, just so you know." Aziraphale pushed away any lingering doubts as he approached with as much care as he could.

Crowley could hear and smell the angel, but he was all but blind to actually see the movements and proximity as Aziraphale got down into the empty bath with him. The serpent was resolved to remain as motionless as he could. There was no risk of him injuring Aziraphale, even being venomous, but Crowley still didn't want to move much at this stage. He could hear the hesitation that had replaced the smugness in the angel's voice now that he was being forced to put his money where his mouth was, as it were.

"'S fine, angel. I don't need commentary." Crowley reassured. He hesitated, "I trust you."

Aziraphale couldn't help the smile that spread across his face but didn't trust himself to speak just yet. Instead, he gently touched the snake's snout and then even more gently peeled back the skin.

The peeling started slow. Aziraphale was hesitant and tentative when it came to pulling on the skin, but it was also fascinating in a way to watch and feel it slide off the smooth, new scales underneath. Once they had made it past Crowley's eyes, things were a bit easier. Aziraphale had gained a bit more confidence, and with the peel already going Crowley was able to move things along at a more reasonable pace. Muscles shifted and undulated under the angel's hands as the serpent quite literally slithered out of his old skin.

Normally, this process took him nearly a week from start to finish on his own. With Aziraphale's help, he was out of his old skin in shorter than two days. Having started the shed before he had called the angel, it was almost unbelievable to be nearly finished with the whole ordeal.

With the privilege of sight returned to him, he could have smiled. If his serpentine features allowed for such an expression. They did not. When his tail had slid out, he looked himself up and down feeling rather pleased.

"Thanks, angel." Hissing like a snake, Crowley could have blushed. He focused. "You didn't have to, y'know, help."

"It was my pleasure." Aziraphale beamed at the serpent, secretly glad to see those beautiful yellow eyes so clear and bright once more. The angel looked mildly dishevelled, but that just comes from helping with a two-day shedding.

Crowley doubted that very much, but he decided to hold his tongue on the matter. Using his tail, he flicked his old skin out of the bath onto the floor above. It was an unusual sort of motion, but one he seemed very practised in. "Yeah, well. Uh. Right." Still a serpent, he laid himself flat against the bottom of the bath once more. This time, though, he had the pleasure of actually watching the angel.

Aziraphale sat back on his heels and looked at the serpent expectantly. After a pause, confusion crossed the angel's face. "Aren't you going to change back now that you've shed your skin?"

"Uh, right. Thing is, I, well, I need a bath. Before I can shift back." Crowley almost sounded apologetic.

"Oh." Aziraphale stood. Exiting the bath he backed out of the room, a bit of colour on his face. "I'll be just out there then. If you need anything."

Aziraphale closed the door behind himself, leaving the serpent alone in the steamy room. He straightened his coat and bowtie as he crossed the flat to the kitchen. It was just as unused looking as the rest of the flat tended to seem, but the fridge was fully stocked and the cupboards seemed to have everything he could want.

Settling on just some tea, he waited for it to boil by snooping a bit more through the kitchen. He very rarely saw Crowley eat, and even then it would usually just be a bite or two of whatever Aziraphale was insisting he try. It was unfathomable for all this food to be here. Maybe it was just for appearances, but he very much doubted the demon hosted. Ever.

Holding the warm cup, Aziraphale allowed himself to wander from room to room. He had trouble actually visualising the demon in this flat. With the exception of the unmade bed, the plants, and the ansaphone, there wasn't much else to suggest anyone lived here at all. Even despite the kitchen. So few touches of the demon's personality in this stark place. It was something he had distractedly observed when he spent the night after Armageddon, but there had been other things on his mind that night.

"Having a nice tour, angel?"

Aziraphale spun on his heel at the voice, feeling a bit guilty to have been caught. He had been standing in Crowley's office admiring the sketch of the Mona Lisa. Now he was admiring something else.

Crowley stood there in his preferred form with trousers, but without a shirt. He would have never been caught in such a state before, not with the four missing wing scars on his back. But Aziraphale already knew about them. His hair was also hidden under a towel twisted up on top of his head. The sunglasses were nowhere in sight.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have intruded."

"It's okay. Not much to intrude on anyway. Signora del Giocondo enjoys the company." Shrugging as his eyes flicked from the angel to the portrait and back, Crowley finally noticed the way Aziraphale was looking at him. It was reminiscent of how he looked at pastries. Yellow eyes widened slightly before he glanced away. For something to do, he bent forward slightly and flipped the towel twist off his head and began drying his hair. Crowley had been wearing it short after Armageddon, but it was currently as long as it had been when they met on the wall of Eden.

"Does your hair grow out like that every time you shed?"

"What? Oh, yes." Crowley shook his head a bit when he was done then tossed the red curls over his back. Damp, but no longer dripping.

"You've always had such lovely hair."

"Oh. I, uh, thanks," said Crowley sounding a little shy. "You've never mentioned that before." In truth, the demon hadn't thought Aziraphale ever really considered his corporation. In any of its forms.

"I never dared. Before. But I've always thought it."

"Oh," Crowley repeated. He wanted to ask why, but he knew exactly why. Instead, he glanced away again. Turning, he left the doorway to his own office and slouched down onto one end of his stylishly pure white and very uncomfortable leather sofa. He almost never sat here, and the few times he did were enough of a reminder why. Crowley didn't know what to say or do. This had gone better than his moult the previous year. Not that either event had set a high bar for trust and familiarity between them.

Aziraphale sat on the other side of the couch with his tea, but he seemed much more at ease with the situation. Placing the empty cup out of the way, he shifted subtly to face Crowley. After a slight moment of hesitation, he slowly reached out. His fingers slid easily through Crowley's hair, even in spite of the lingering water which should have tangled together. As if his hair had ever dared to tangle or knot.

Crowley had watched every movement but still tensed under the initial contact. Unlike when he shed, or when he had moulted, the demon relaxed within a few seconds and practically leant into the warm hands. This was comforting in a way exposing his most vulnerable nature, twice, had most certainly not been.

If Aziraphale had been smiling before, it was nothing to the expression of love that settled onto his face. Crowley had always enjoyed wrapping himself up when on the angel's shoulders in his more mischievous moments in the shop, and Aziraphale had wondered, on more than one occasion over the years, about how touch starved the demon must be.

Within half of an hour, Crowley had gone from leaning into the touch to full-on laying across the couch with his head in the angel's lap. He wasn't asleep, but his eyes were closed in contentment. Maybe being caught by his angel in the most vulnerable states hadn't been such a bad thing after all.


End file.
